Mistakes
by jillyfae
Summary: An epilogue to the visual novel game Cinders, showing the growth between the events of the game and the ending slides, Cinder/Perrault, Fairy Tale Ending. (What happens if Cinderella and the Prince never fell in love?)


He'd shown up at her window in the middle of the night, and her heart had literally skipped a beat. She'd always thought that one of the more ridiculous phrases she'd come across in a romance story, until she felt the ache, the catch in her chest at the sound of his voice.

They'd talked under the moonlight, of duty and honor, of choices and consequences. She'd had trouble remembering what he'd said, what she'd answered, eyes caught on the shapes his mouth made as he spoke, breathing in deeply to catch the faint hint of leather beneath the usual damp green scent of the night air by the Lake.

She'd leaned in closer, her voice dropping, wanting nothing more than to talk of love, as well. She'd seen the warmth in his eyes, for just a moment, matching the fire she felt beneath her skin.

But she couldn't quite get the words out past a throat gone tight, and that warmth had faded, his face turned away. He whispered about her youth, and how they'd just met, and how could they really know each other so soon...

_I know you are strong, and honorable, and handsome, and I think I'm falling in love with you..._

But she didn't say it. She laughed it off, agreed with him, spoke of freedom and the open road when all she wanted to do was scream and cry, pound her fists against his chest.

_See me. Hear me. Kiss me._

But he didn't. He was courtly, and distant, escorting her through the woods before he returned to the Palace.

She snuck back in her window after the other-wordly sight in the cemetery. She stood in her room, wavering on her feet, staring at her bed, desperate to cry herself to sleep, shock and disappointment and awe too potent a mix to handle.

_Could I wish for him? For him to love me? To run away with me? Not just away from here, but towards me?_

She swallowed, suddenly slightly nauseous. That was worse than anything Carmosa had ever done to her. Carmosa might control her life, but she couldn't reach in to twist her mind, her heart.

Cinders wouldn't either, even if she could.

But neither would she settle for second best, for being a convenient friend on the road. She wanted more than that. If she was going to break free of this life, she couldn't just sit and hope he'd change his mind.

She had to let him go. Find her own happiness. Find her own power.

_And I know just who can help me with that._

* * *

It had been easier than she'd thought, to seduce the Prince. Probably because her competition was too busy trying to be pretty than to actually talk to the man. She'd been inclined to think favorably of the Prince after the way Perrault had spoken of him, but she'd liked him even more than she'd expected. A good heart, a sharp mind. Handsome enough, even if he didn't make her breath speed up, her skin feel tight and hot.

_Stop that. Not thinking about the Captain anymore._

When said Captain pounded on the door in the middle of the night she thought, for just a moment, that he'd come for her. That she wasn't the only one who felt...

But no. He was there to claim her for someone else, his gaze burning through her as he spoke the Prince's offer. His voice stayed level though, his face impassive, even when she accepted.

The Prince had sent his Captain in a carriage. The ride back was silent, the rattle of wheels and the steady rhythm of hoofbeats the only sound in the darkness. Occasionally, she thought she heard him take a breath, as if he was about to speak, but nothing happened.

It seemed to take longer to ride than it had to walk.

And yet she'd barely had time to breathe, hadn't even managed to think an entire sentence, a greeting, a question, something, anything, in this one last moment before they arrived.

He held out a hand to help her out, fingers strong and calloused and almost cold to the touch, and she couldn't decide if she wanted to thank him, or apologize, or beg.

"This is farewell," he whispered before he ushered her into the Prince's presence. "I have declined the Prince's offer, and will be leaving to take residence in my new lands before daybreak. Good luck, Cinders."

_Good luck._

* * *

Almost two years passed before he showed his face at Court, forced to appear by the responsibility of rank, attending the christening of the Royal Heir.

Despite the respect she had for her husband, the friendship, the pleasure they'd found working together, sleeping together, the way the grasp of his hand grounded her when the machinations of Court seemed overwhelming, she knew the instant she saw Perrault that she could never truly love Basile.

She still loved her Captain, even if he wasn't a Captain any longer.

Even if he'd never been hers.

He stayed at Court, this time. Politics. He played the knight of old, standing firm and quiet behind the King's throne. She knew he wasn't just a knight anymore, that he'd accepted the King's request, a spy to watch the courtiers as they watched their King.

And always he watched her too. She could feel it, a tightness between her shoulder blades, every time he entered a room. She tried, oh how she tried, not to watch him back, not to want him, but every time she looked at him, a dozen times an hour, he always returned her gaze.

Soon he was standing behind them both. Intellectually, she knew it signified his support for both of them. Strategically it was brilliant, a unified front.

Personally, she could feel his heat, coals banked between her and her husband, liable to burst into flames at any moment and burn them all.

She wanted that fire. She dreamed about it night, imagined it when she was alone in bed with her hand between her legs.

She tried very hard not to think of him when she was with her husband, but sometimes, a single irresistible thought, _what if?_ Those were the nights her body arched, tighter and hotter than usual, when she came so hard the world went white, teeth biting her lip and fingers clawing skin or sheets as she held Perrault's name tight in her mouth.

* * *

He came to visit when she was sequestered with her second pregnancy. The Court Physician suspected twins and had ordered bed rest.

It was painfully, horrendously boring, (even she could only read for so long before she wanted to throw the book against the wall), and Basile couldn't take much time away from politics to spend in her quarters keeping her company.

Sophia was on her honeymoon.

Gloria had taken Carmosa on a Grand Tour so she wouldn't completely take over Sophia's wedding.

Not that visits from Carmosa were restful, but at least they weren't _dull._

Tobias hated visiting her in the Palace, not actually being noble, and would only do so once in a great while. He apparently didn't think it had been long enough since his last one to wander by again.

The instant she saw Perrault's achingly familiar face come past her door, boredom was the least of her worries. She wanted to run her thumb along the three points of the scar beneath his eye so badly her fingers actually twitched against her legs in her lap, and she realized it was the first time they'd been alone together since that carriage ride years ago.

They'd neither of them ever been good at small talk, but they tried, whiling away the afternoon with shallow conversation.

She was watching the shape of his mouth as he spoke, again, and recognized the same helpless longing from that night under the stars, a hopeless glorious tightness in her chest that she couldn't seem to outgrow.

Wife, Queen, Mother, it didn't matter. She still wanted him to be proud of her, wanted him to trust her.

Wanted him to touch her.

Their conversation slowly trailed off, a soft quiet death, and they simply sat, him perched in a chair he'd pulled up beside the bed, her propped up by a ridiculous number of pillows.

She felt like they were both waiting, but neither knew for what, the sound of his breathing softer than the thud of her heart.

He reached out, his hand hovering above the curve of her stomach, and she whined, a slight exhale of breath, trying to ease the burning in her lungs as she hoped his fingers would drop.

_So close._

"I can't help but wonder." His voice was rough and soft. He couldn't finish his sentence, swallowed hard enough she could see the motion down his throat. His eyes were trained on her face, dark, so dark, and she knew what he wondered.

What could have been.

His child inside her, instead of Basile's, his body beside her at night, both free as they wandered the roads, neither trapped within their roles at Court.

"Yes," she said, her voice so soft she almost couldn't hear it. _Yes I wonder. Yes I want. Yes I love you._ He heard it all, what she'd said and what she hadn't, and she felt it in her skin as his eyes dropped to her mouth, tracking the flick of her tongue as she licked her lips. It was his turn to whine, a half-strangled breath, frustration tightening his jaw, his hand clenching into a fist.

He shoved away from her, the bed, the chair, _their lives,_ his hand dropping to his side as he spun around. "I'm sorry." The door closed behind him before she could manage a response.

* * *

The twins were happily settled in the nursery with their wet nurses.

Basile had returned from a round of diplomatic visits this very afternoon. It was the first night they'd both be home and free since she'd been given a clean bill of health after the twins were born.

But she couldn't make herself unlock the door on her side of the hallway connecting the Queen's and King's suites. She just stood before the old dark wood, the floor cool beneath her toes, staring at the latch, imagining she was unlocking the passage behind the bookshelf in her sitting room instead.

The Royal Suites each had an escape tunnel. Which worked just as well at smuggling in Mistresses, ( _Masters? I don't even know the right word for a Queen's illiicit lover, I'm obviously not supposed to have one_), as smuggling out nobility in case of a coup.

A slight tapping made her jump, before she realized someone was knocking on the other side of the door suffering beneath her glare. She slid forward to open it, and was greeted by her husband's wry smile.

"How lucky for me you were right there, hmm?" The twist to his mouth seemed tighter than usual, and when he slid his hand beneath her chin to raise her eyes to his, his expression was unusually grim. "How long have you been standing here, and yet the door was still locked?"

She opened her mouth, unable to speak, no sound, no thoughts.

His eyes closed, slowly, his face tight as he sighed. His hand dropped and he walked past her, staring out into her suite as she spun around to watch him. "Are the children mine, at least?"

If he'd been closer she would've slapped him.

Instead she had to make do with stepping forward to grab his arm, pulling hard so he would turn around, glaring right up into his face. "How dare you! I have never been unfaithful to you. I was a virgin on our wedding night, and I've never even kissed another man."

"And yet you're in love with my Master Spy?"

She blinked, the shock cold down her spine. Her eyes opened to see his eyes as cold as she felt. "How did you know?" _I'm not even completely sure he knows._

"Oh, I doubt anyone less familiar with the both of you can tell." He shrugged, a sharp brittle motion. "My Spy's plans and contacts are all very slightly tilted in your favor. You always know where he is. He gets angry when Cumberland makes one of his tasteless jokes, though everyone else has long since learned to ignore him." He shook his arm free of her now limp grasp. "You make sure to never be alone with him in public. I was... unsure if you extended the same courtesy in private."

"Basile," she breathed out, so slight a sound, her voice barely working. "I'm sorry."

His eyes warmed slightly, a slight chuckle. "Well, for all we work well together, we were never either of us in love. My pride is more wounded than my heart. You do love him, don't you?"

She nodded slightly, tilted her head to watch him sigh, one hand raised to briefly pinch the bridge of his nose. "You are both much too valuable where you are to risk separating you. But eventually someone else will notice."

"But there's nothing to... I mean, we've never done..."

"Your eyes, my dear." He almost smiled, this time. "They give you away."

"And here I thought I was doing so well." She almost smiled back, half embarrassed, half relieved, half confused. _That's too many halves._

"Oh, you've done remarkably well, so far." He pursed his lips slightly, considering. "I shall have to do something noticeably indiscreet myself, so whenever the Court figures it out, they assume I got bored first, yes? Otherwise there will be questions regarding our heirs, and neither of us want that."

"You, you would do that?"

"I think it's expected in a King, to be honest, that he go a little crazy in his private life at some point?"

She couldn't resist a laugh at that, the oh so innocent widening of his eyes.

He reached out, one gentle stroke of fingers down her cheek. "I have but two requests for you. Don't let him get you pregnant."

She swallowed, feeling the weight of this conversation resting on her shoulders, her heart. "Of course not."

"And leave this door unlocked. You're still my Queen, and I don't want the servants noticing I have to go out in the hallway when I wish to speak with you." His lips twitched slightly as she nodded again. "I promise to knock first."

"Same to you."

That startled a laugh out of him at last, his shoulders easing. "I shall have to think of something suitably outrageous to do that warrants the care."

"I'm sure you'll manage something." She leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek. "Thank you."

"Thank you," he whispered back. "Three beautiful healthy children, a relatively stable and unified Court? You were an excellent choice in a bride. You deserve a chance at some happiness of your own, now."

"So do you."

This time his shrug was slow, his eyes shadowed as he refrained from meeting her gaze. "We shall see."

He slipped away before she could think of something to say. _That seems to happen to me a lot._ She was alone in her hallway again, still staring at the damn door, still unsure of what to do next, regret and hope twisting together in her gut.

* * *

Basile managed to seduce an ambassador's daughter.

She had a very difficult time keeping a straight face when she realized what he was up to, but he did a spectacular job of being just subtle enough she could ignore him, while still making sure most of the Court figured it out.

It was quite delightful to watch, in fact; not that there was anyone with whom she could appreciate the joke, as she was supposed to be the injured party.

"My dear," the King leaned over to whisper to her over dinner one night. "Now that I have thoroughly ruined my own reputation, could you please have a talk with my Knight? He is quite affronted with me of late, on your behalf."

She had to swallow the urge to snort before she managed to answer, her hand tilted in front of her face to hide her smile. "I would, except he has quite successfully evaded my every attempt to get him alone in the same room with me. And I truly doubt you wish me to have this conversation in front of anyone?"

It was her husband's turn to cough awkwardly. "Hmm. I can see how that would be a problem. I do, perhaps, have a meeting with him tonight, in the first conference room off the Library?" She nodded slightly. "I think that I shall maybe completely forget about, and you can just happen to be there reading."

"You are a brilliant man, my lord."

"Why thank you, my lady, I do try."

* * *

She wasn't actually managing to read a word of her book, but she turned a page periodically just for the change in scenery.

To be honest, she wasn't even completely sure what book she was pretending to read anymore.

She recognized the sound of his stride across the rugs in the library proper, and carefully put her book aside, reminding herself to breathe normally as she looked up at the doorway.

He took one look at her and turned to go, after one quick nod almost too fast for her to see.

"Wait!" She was on her feet and halfway across the room in an instant, but she never would've caught him if he hadn't stopped on his own, head bent and shoulders tight above the line of his back. "Please, Perrault."

For a moment she didn't think he would, but finally, he shifted backwards, just enough to close the door. He didn't turn around, his head almost leaning against the wood.

She side-stepped slowly, reaching around him to lock it. "Look at me."

When he did, his jaw tight and his eyes dark, she forgot every word of her carefully considered and reconsidered explanation, and leaned in to kiss him instead. He stiffened as she moved and she made herself stop, close enough she could feel his breath against her lips, feel the edge of his nose against her own.

"Please," she mouthed again. "Please Perrault."

She heard something catch in his throat, uncertain if he wanted to speak or growl or simply breathe, and then she didn't care, as he shifted forward just enough for his mouth to brush against hers.

It was sweet, and soft, his lips gentle, their bodies not quite touching.

And then almost five years of denied passion was too much to bear, and she leaned into his mouth, her hands tight in his hair, her tongue tasting his lips. She felt his groan, his hands sliding down her back, pulling her tight against him. There was the slightest shift in weight, a step to the side almost as graceful as a dance, and she was pinned between him and the door, his mouth on hers to muffle her voice as she cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she pushed up against him.

He didn't smell like leather anymore, too many years at court, but he was still strong, his chest heavy and hard against her body, his hands hot against the skin of her neck as he held her head in place, his lips firm as his tongue dove inside her mouth. Until he pushed away, leaving her gasping for breath as he shook his head, trying to regain his composure.

"_Please._" His voice was ragged, an almost laugh catching in his throat. "I cannot resist your 'please', Cinders."

She wrapped her arms around him, tucking her face tight against his neck. "You're the only one who still calls me that."

"You'll always be my Cinders." She moved with him as he stepped back into the room, easing her away from the door, giving her room to breathe. She sighed as she felt his hand brush against her temple, rough skin catching slightly as his fingers followed the flow of her hair up into the bun on top of her head. "But we shouldn't, we _can't._ "

"Why not?" She leaned back, trying not to shiver at the feel of his fingers splayed across her back, supporting her weight as she lifted her hands and rested them along the line of his jaw. "Did you know Basile went out of his way to feed himself to the rumor mill to avoid us getting ground up by it first?"

"What?" His hands had been moving up to hold hers, but at that he froze, fingers wrapped around her wrists, as if uncertain whether to push them away or pull her close again. "He did... but we've never... what did you tell him?"

"Nothing. He figured it out on his own. Said my eyes gave away how much I love you." His fingers tightened, and she could feel the swallow down his throat as he stared at her face. "I do love you, my Captain."

He didn't speak, but his eyes widened, just a little, a wordless sigh of agreement escaping his mouth.

_Demons,_ it was hard to breathe with the weight of his eyes on her. "Come to my suite tonight."

"Just tonight?" His voice was a quiet rasp, his hands slowly sliding down her arms, the combination making her shiver.

"And the next night. And every night you can after that."

His hands reached her shoulders, and he pulled her close to kiss her again, gently this time, the brush of lips slowly deepening, until she pulled away this time, rocking back on her heels, waiting for his answer. Needing to hear him say what neither of them had managed, that night beneath the stars so long ago.

"I'll see you tonight, my love."

* * *

He barely made it into the room before they slammed together, a flurry of hands and mouths as she rode him to the floor. He didn't mind the rug burns on his shoulders; she ignored the bruises on her knees.

The second night he came to her they managed to last a few more steps, before he bent her over her desk and took her from behind, her fingers curling tight around the wood as she cried out with each thrust.

The third night they made it all the way to the couch, her legs spread wide as she straddled him, his hands rising up her back to hold her close as he sucked her breast deep within his mouth, his hips rising up beneath her.

The fourth finally got them all the way to the bed, a trail of clothes marking their path until they landed on the mattress.

And always, after that first frenzied greeting, they'd wrap themselves up beneath her blankets, whispered conversations or the gentle slide of skin against skin or sometimes even just sleep, until he had to sneak back out at dawn, to have his solitary breakfast in his own quarters.

Eventually, of course, no one was fooled by their charade, but life in Court was all about keeping up appearances, and so he always left, one last good-bye kiss before he slipped behind her bookcase, and they had to spend their days pretending not to want to touch, careful not to stand too close, never alone in the same room for too long.

* * *

One early morning when she'd had trouble sleeping, Perrault unable to slip away to join her the night before, she heard a knock at the adjoining door.

And opened the door to see her step-sister, instead of her husband.

That had been a very long and awkward breakfast, sitting in her suite, the quiet clink of ceramic the only sound as both of them tried to figure out what to say.

And then finally they broke, apologies and explanations. Sophia's husband was mercenary, and enjoyed her connections with the Palace more than he enjoyed her company. Sophia and Basile had always enjoyed a quiet conversation, having someone who would appreciate sharp observations of courtiers.

Until she'd called him out on his affairs, furious with his treatment of her step-sister.

He'd managed a private conversation in a cardroom, after the players had left for a dance, explaining the situation.

But he'd stopped seducing courtiers.

And spent his free time with Sophia when he could.

She had known her step-sister and her husband were friends, of course, but hadn't ever realized...

"Neither did we."

The shock finally faded at Sophia's soft confession. She recognized the haunted look in Sophia's eyes as one she'd seen in her own mirror too many times to count.

"I'm glad you found each other," she murmured softly, reaching out to lay a hand upon Sophia's shoulder.

And she finally saw her sister smile.

* * *

It was nice, to finally have a sister, someone who could share in secrets and stories, who would meet her for lunch at a moment's notice, who could make court functions a little less dull with just the flash of rolled eyes.

The fact that they'd finally managed to put their past behind them because she could sympathize that Sophia was in love with her husband was a bit unorthodox, perhaps, but it seemed to work for them.

And it was nice to see Basile happy, on those days when Sophia had wandered through the hallway to join her for breakfast.

Of course, there was the extra edge of remorse to those breakfasts, watching her sister tuck her happiness back behind her eyes, so no one would see it when she left. She had to do that herself each day, as well, and wouldn't have wished a life of such lies on anyone.

It was impossible not to wonder if it was her fault they'd all come to this. If she'd only given Perrault a chance, spoken to him before the ball, would he have said yes? Could they have been together then, free and far away, and could Sophia and Basile have managed to marry for love instead of politics, so no one would be sneaking down hallways in the quiet morning?

But of course it was much too late to fix her own mistakes. They could only go on, making the best they could of the consequences.

When she fell asleep on Perrault's shoulder, his heart beating beneath her ear, her fingers softly tracing a scar across his chest, she realized it was more than good enough.

* * *

_End Notes:_

_This was inspired by the fact that I never managed to get a single romantic word out of Perrault during one playthrough... and then the epilogue informed me he came back to be Basile's Master Spy in order to protect Cinders. Well. That was a rather irresistible transformation. ^_~_


End file.
